What Matters to Carl
by didntdoit
Summary: Carl has always been the weird boy who stayed true to his love of...interesting things. To most, it is simply repulsive. But for one girl, it is her one hope. Title subject to change. Thanks to Irindiglo for a temporary one!
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

His eyes widened at the newest treasure that he and his best friend recently excavated.

"Look Hoods, isn't she beautiful?" says Carl, your typical preteen boy whose main interest is gross things which are bound to frighten, disgust, and/or repulse normal people.

"She sure is, Carl," Hoodsey replied satisfactorily.

The two boys were covered in dust and flies. They desperately needed showers. But the time they spent, the toil in the rubbish that was Sheltered Shrubs' City Dump, didn't matter. It was all worth it.

The speckled baby rat stared at the boys with her wide eyes, as if searching for her mother. She wasn't the most attractive animal in the world, but the excitement of owning a city rat triumphed over her sordid appearance. Normally, Carl wouldn't have had the heart to separate such a creature from its family, but she appeared to be abandoned and in need of a home.

"You can have her, you know," Carl said to a surprised Hoodsey. "I mean, Mama Hoodsey. It kinda suits you."

"Wha-You mean it? Well, you're the one who found it and all…"

"Lets just say that it's an early birthday present." Hoodsey beamed at his newfound pet. But then, the realization suddenly hit.

"But Carl! My parents-Well my dad wouldn't care, but my mom would kill me! What would I do if I took home a rat from the dump?" Carl sighed at the obviousness of the situation.

"Duh, Hoods! You _don't _tell her that she's from the dump. Tell her that it's for a school project or something. I seriously doubt that she'd would call Zorski if you mentioned _school_ as your excuse."

"You really think she'd fall for it?"

"No doubt." As he said that, he dug out a small cage. "What do small rats eat, anyway? Erg…yeah. Feed her lettuce and carrots or something. That should do it." He gently grabbed the tiny rodent and placed her in the cage. "Now, we searched far for something worthwhile in that dump. I want to take good care of…"

"Pinky," Mama Hoodsey declared. He checked his watch. "I have to be home in time to take a shower before dinner. My armpits stink."

As soon as Hoodsey left with Pinky, Carl tip- toed slowly to his room, enjoying the last few moments that he would carry this "heavenly" scent with him. Unfortunately for his older sister, Ginger, the smell was spreading quickly and his pace up to his room was _much _too slow.

"Ugh, Carl! What have you been rolling around in?!" yelled a disgusted Ginger as she poked her head out from her room.

"Nothing, but good ol' trash, Sis." Ginger rolled her eyes.

"Well, you hurry up or Macie might faint from breathing that in with her one good nostril."

"Can do, Sis. Can do." And Carl raced to the bathroom shower for the sanity of his sister and her friends.

Meanwhile, Ginger sighed as she went back to sit on her bed with her two best friends, Macie and Dodie.

"Ginger, that was Carl, wasn't it? I could smell him from all the way back here. And I'm guessing Hoodsey is gonna stink up my house as well," Dodie sighed.

"It's probably better that I don't have an adolescent brother who enjoys these things. Wouldn't be good for my sinus infection," said Macie as she stuck her head out the window for some fresh air.

"Sorry, guys. I mean, it's actually starting to worry me. He's enjoyed this stuff ever since like, what? Ever? And now, he's practically fourteen. Isn't this the stage where normal boys start to grow up and mature? I mean, seriously," said Ginger.

And as Carl listened to the teenage girls chatting away about his strange interests from the shower stall, he smiled to himself. He was _Carl Foutley. _He was the same immature boy everyone has always known. If it were his choice, would choose to be surrounded by jars of body parts, interesting insects and creatures, and other random artifacts. He would go dig in the dump everyday for treasure. And he was certainly in no rush of growing up.

He was no normal boy.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

"Watch it, Gripling!" Carl hissed at Blake Gripling, Lucky Jr. High's "rich boy," when he tripped poor Hoodsey with his wooden walking stick.

"Yeah! What he said!" piped in Hoodsey, as he tried to regain his composure. He blushed slightly at the girls who were laughing at his clumsiness. Hoodsey was never the type to care what girls thought of him. Since he entered junior high school, though, he at least attempted to look less like a fool in front of others than he did in elementary school.

"Well, maybe you and your chubby self should be more careful!" replied Blake in his usual snobby tone. Hoodsey was starting to look uncomfortable now. If there was anything he did not like to be teased about, it was his weight. He started to retort, but Carl was faster.

"You say that again, Gripling, and I'll-"

"Boys! Boys!" Mrs. Zorski clapped her hands to catch the boys' attention. She sighed to herself. _Ginger _never caused any ruckus like this… "Now, can the three of you please sit in your seats and settle down?" Carl forced himself to keep quiet, as he wasn't in the mood to fight anymore. But still! The injustice! That _brat _didn't even apologize to his best friend!

"Really, Carl" whispered Hoodsey to Carl, seeing that he was still fired up. "I'm okay now." Carl, however, fought to hide his scowl.

"Whew. Now that we're all focused, I'd like to show something to you," said Mrs. Zorski. "I've been pushing this for years, but only recently has Principal Milty agreed. Starting this year, Lucky Jr. High's seventh grade students, as in _you,_ will be participating in an annual writing contest. Every year, the judges choose a vague topic for students to expand on in an essay. This year, the topic is _What I am Passionate About. _I expect each of you to participate and hand in these essays by tomorrow. And the prize…Well, I'll tell you about the prize after you hand the papers in just to give you even more motivation to do well. Yes, Brandon?" A hyper boy in a knitted vest with far-too-neat hair responded quickly.

"Can the essay be about a pet monkey, by any chance?" Carl rolled his eyes. Of _course _he was going to write about Mr. Licorice.

"Anything you want, Brandon. These judges are looking for something special. And who knows? A pet monkey may just be that. What is it, Carl?" Mrs. Zorski hesitantly called on Carl, for she was about ninety percent sure that the question would _not_ be about his enthusiasm for the project.

"Yeah, as you know, Ginger really has inherited all the writing skill genes in the family. So that would mean that the other Foutley child, I, am left with none. Could I perhaps just turn in a blank page?" Mrs. Zorski was dismayed by Carl's statement.

"Did I mention that I am to receive a separate copy of the essay? Meaning that even if you do not try at your fullest potential, which I know all you students are capable of, I still see your work. This will be a third of your quarter grade. Therefore, if you fail this assignment, you will not be setting yourself up for a nice report card." The bell rang, signaling that next period was about to start. With that last statement, plenty of students, Carl included, were groaning about the assignment.

"Great. Just great, Hoods. I-"

"Carl Foutley? May I speak to you for a moment?" Carl whipped around to Mrs. Zorski's voice. She sat at her desk, as if she had something really important to say. Carl mouthed to Hoodsey "See you later" and approached Mrs. Zorski's desk.

"Now, Carl. What's all this about not wanting to write the paper? You are not the type of student to be handing in blank pages. I know you. You're better than that. "

"Well if you must know, Mrs. Zorski. I have many ideas swimming around in my head for the paper, but they would not be worth writing down for the contest." Mrs. Zorski frowned in disappointment and in confusion.

"Could you explain, Carl?" Carl sighed. How was he to explain that adults like her would not be interested to learn about things that interest boys like _him._

"You heard about that story in which I snuck out a frozen crawfish from the Mrs. Gordon's science class?" Mrs. Zorski inwardly winced, suspecting that she knew where this conversation was going, but kept a poker face. "Well, you see, the reason why I do those things is because frozen bugs and oddities fascinate me. I can't help it. Now how do you suppose these judges would react?" Mrs. Zorski sighed.

"Like I said before to Brandon, anything is possible. So as long as it's written well, I don't see why not. Look, how about this. If the judges are really offended by what you have written, I'll tell them that it was my fault. And from what you tell me about the topic, I don't see why it would cause an uproarious reaction," In a last somewhat desperate attempt, he added something else before he headed to his next class.

"There's also the fact that I'm not much of a writer. Like Ginger, that is."

"Just be yourself, Carl," Mrs. Zorski replied. Carl headed outside of the classroom, knowing that he wouldn't be able to back out of this one. He was going to have to sit down and write this paper, whether he wanted to or not.

Later that night, Carl stared at the ceiling in his doghouse, dreading the essay. Usually, words did not come easily to him, especially when it was for school. Also, a well written essay in one night was a real hefty order, even for Mrs. Zorski. But his mother was already angry at him for clogging to kitchen sink with dog mucus the last week. How would she react if he brought home an F for the quarter? Besides, he figured, Mrs. Zorski was probably expecting something decent after their conversation this afternoon. He pulled out a ratted cardboard box full of clean enough lined paper and found a pen from a random shelf.

"Okay, Mrs. Zorski. Be myself, huh?"

And he started to write.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

"That was brutal, Zorski," yawned an exhausted Hoodsey.

Normally on a Friday afternoon, Carl and Hoodsey would race out of school, convinced that this weekend would be better than the last. Unfortunately, due to last night's drudgery, the two boys couldn't even get up from their reclining positions in the doghouse.

"Started at nine o'clock. Came up with a topic at midnight. Finished….hmm. Finished two hours later," said Hoodsey.

"Three hours for a topic? Come up with anything good?"

"Oh well…It took me awhile but uh…" Hoodsey turned on his side to where the cage with Pinky was resting. He looked lovingly at her. Carl smiled, thinking how predictable it was that Hoodsey would develop such a maternal nature for his newfound pet. Hoodsey then snapped out of it to ask Carl.

"And you?"

"Oh come on, Hoods. See this doghouse full of…_things_? Look all around you." Hoodsey fortunately took the hint and didn't need to ask more. "Yep. This all-nighter was indeed a rough one." Hoodsey gaped at Carl. Carl was not exactly a slacker, but he was not the type to devote so much to a school assignment either.

"I wish mom could have let me sleep the day and call sick. But you know her. She can be so strict sometimes. Isn't that right, Pinky?" Hoodsey cooed. Carl sat up a little to ask the big question.

"And how exactly is Jojo about the new addition to the family?" Carl braced himself for the answer.

"Well, as expected, she was not exactly thrilled with having some _rat_ in her house. And you were wrong, Carl. She didn't buy the whole school project excuse. Oh, and then she went on my sheets a couple of times within the first few days. That really didn't make mom happy at all." It didn't really sound good to Carl. He wasn't really sure if he wanted to hear more, but Hoodsey just kept on talking. "So she told me, 'Robert Joseph Bishop, if I catch that rodent out of its cage one more time, you clean whatever presents it surprises you with. Or else, it's gone.'" Carl was surprised to see that Hoodsey was still smiling.

"And, this is good because?" Hoodsey sighed.

"Don't you get it, Carl? It means that I'm allowed to keep her granted that I'm a good Mama Hoodsey. And I swear," Hoodsey put his hand on his heart, "that I will be the best Mama ever!" Carl gave a wry smile.

A sudden knock on the door gave a start to the two boys.

"Name, gender, and purpose," Carl asserted. He heard a deep sigh of frustration from outside his house.

"Ginger Foutley. Girl. And mom wants you for dinner. Now. Carl, you know that dinner on Fridays starts early. What's taking you so long?" Of course, Ginger should have known better than to expect a real answer.

"Classified," Carl firmly stated. "And we're coming out right now. Just give us a minute." He waited until the sounds of Ginger's footsteps disappeared. Hoodsey and Carl stretched and yawned as they struggled to get up. Hoodsey groaned.

"Actually, make that five minutes."

--

"Aw yes! Mrs. Foutley's famous macaroni and cheese! Extra crusty, just the way I like it!" Hoodsey grinned. Mrs. Foutley, or Lois as she would rather be called by her coworkers, frowned her dish of noodles as the two boys dug right in, while Ginger, Dodie, and Macie patiently waited to get their fill.  
"Is it really that crusty?" Lois asked, knowing that she wasn't the _best _cook in the world, but still…

"Mom, take it as a compliment. It's pretty good," Carl said, with his mouth stuffed with cheese. The girls tried to look away as he talked.

Despite the fact that he usually made a mess and had a habit of making repulsive comments at the dinner table, Carl really appreciated mealtimes. He enjoyed the fact that although his father, whom he barely knew, wasn't there, his mother worked hard to bring everybody together. Plus, as far as he knew, his mom's food wasn't half bad.

"So, how is school lately? Girls? Boys?" Macie jumped to answer first.

"Oh, very nice, Mrs. Foutley. The school has recently installed better water fountains. Good for us students. Less fecal coliform. Sweeeeet."

"And if you ask me," Carl responded, "A little fecal love never did anyone much harm."

"Ew, Carl. That is totally gross," Ginger cried. "Mom, please?" Lois sighed.

"Change of subject, kids. Now would you like to share with us why the circles under your eyes are bigger than the holes in the socks in your new socks which I bought _last week_, Carl?" Lois turned to face Carl only. "But that is going to be a whole new conversation for later."

"If you are referring to our obvious physical exhaustion, mom, I would say that it's classified." Ginger rolled her eyes. "_Would,_ ladies. But this doesn't even deserve a 'classified.' Mrs. Zorski demanded this huge essay for some stupid contest. And not only that, it's supposed to be a third of our grade. So, dear mother, if I happen to fail because of this one paper, please understand that I actually did try." At that instant, the phone started ringing. Ginger stood up.

"I'll get it, mom." A few seconds later, Ginger handed the phone to Carl. "For you." Ginger turned to Lois. "Mom, it was Mrs. Zorski."

"Funny," Lois frowned. "I thought he said that he put some effort into it."

"Oh, well thank you very much, Mrs. Zorski. Yeah, I'll tell her right away."

And then he hung up.

"What now, Carl? Sneak something vile into her classroom? Set the school's pet animals on loose? I don't know. I just can't believe that after the last round of detentions, you've managed to land yourself in-"

"Mom, it's not like that. Not this time," said Carl with an amused smile.

"Then tell me why Mrs. Zorski made a phone call home. And it better be good."

"That contest I was talking about earlier? Turns out I didn't do such a bad job, after all. I won."


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

_Petrified eyeballs, preserved insects, moldy samples…This sanctuary is filled with odds and ends of that sort._

_Ladies and Gentlemen, I present to you my doghouse._

I was merely three years old when I dug my first earthworm from the backyard. Like a pirate who has just discovered the location of the treasure chest, I wanted to show off my gold to everyone in sight. First there was my sister, who, being the typical five- year old girl who loved plastic dolls and unicorns, screamed and ran away as soon as I flashed it in her face. Then, I turned to mom. After all, I thought to myself, she was a mother. Of course, she would smile with glee at her son's accomplishments!

_"CARL FOUTLEY!" yelled my disgusted mom at my now shocked and confused self, "You take that….worm outside and put it back where it belongs!" Not only was my own mother not proud, but she was practically stepping backwards away from my worm and me._

_And did I throw my treasure in "back where it belongs?" Of course not._

_I emptied out a jar of strawberry jam, stuffed some dirt and rocks in it, and put my worm in it. That way, I could see it whenever I wanted! _

_But I was not satisfied. I thought, "Why should I, Carl-the-Bug-Boy, only collect worms?" _

_There was a whole world of bugs, not just worms! Soon, there were jars full of ants, spiders, caterpillars, centipedes, millipedes, butterflies, and almost every other insect that a kid could find in a backyard carefully hidden in my closet. And then I collected my first mold sample when I was five. I watched in fascination, as the tiny mold grew bigger. Not long after that, my bug list expanded to every gross object I could get my hands on. I was no longer Carl-the-Bug Boy, but now I was and am Carl-the-Junk-Collector! _

_But being the clean and sensible woman she is, mom soon found this vast collection. I pleaded with all my heart that she would not rid of my hard work and beauties. Fortunately, my mom saw the zeal in my eyes and together (mom reluctantly, though) carried all the jars and relocated them to an empty doghouse in my backyard._

_What is it that makes objects, which are so disturbing to the normal human being, excite and enthrall me? Well, there are many reasons. I love the squirminess of insects when you lay a finger on its bare skin. I love waking up and seeing that the little bit of mold has increased exponentially in size. I love wondering why my experiment of making a mini jack-in-the-box out of hairballs from a cat didn't work. (But that is another story)_

_I guess what I'm trying to say is that I love observing and seeing how these mysterious things work. _

_People shy away from such objects because they are grossed out. But when you think about it, it's probably because that they are ignorant. They haven't experienced the excitement of observing such…awesome things. Also, I feel that I have grown as a person and student by collecting gross objects. By keeping a collection, one must constantly defend oneself from ridicule and tell others why it's a valuable experience. One must also be responsible to make sure that such objects are in fine condition. Plus, as my mother, a working nurse would say, it's better than sitting at watching television all day._

_Someday, I hope to have not just my own doghouse stuffed to the brim, but many other doghouses as well. It may seem like a childish phase, but I tell you, cross my heart and hope to die, this passion of mine is as pure and real._

_Now if you excuse me, folks, I'm off to the garbage dump with an empty tin can just waiting to be filled._

"So I guess this means that I pass this quarter?" Ms. Zorski rolled her eyes. She did wish that Carl would be more proud of the work he produced. Just a moment ago, she reread his essay for what must've been the hundredth time and she was still astonished.

"Well, Carl, assuming you keep working, I don't see why not."

It was early. Seven o'clock was an especially inhuman hour for middle school student Carl to be at school, but Mrs. Zorski insisted that he and Lois meet to discuss his "distinguished accomplishment." Lois gently nudged her son.

"Come on, Carl. Ginger would be thrilled to have this honor. You could at least pretend to be happy."

"Now Carl, would you like to know what you have won?" Mrs. Zorski said, hoping that if anything, at least this would catch his attention.

"What's the prize, Mrs. Zorski?" Carl said in a robotic blatantly uninterested tone. Mrs. Zorski, however, ignored it and proceeded.

"A ten thousand annual scholarship to any college of your choice…" Carl forced his mouth shut to keep from saying, _"Yeah, like a twelve year old like me would care." _

"Well, Teach, I thank you for this meeting. Now, pardon my hastiness, but isn't class about to start any minute now?" Mrs. Zorski shifted in her seat, starting to look uncomfortable. Carl started to worry. Had he said something wrong?

"I apologize, Mrs. Zorski, but I-"

"Well, there's something else that I didn't mention yet." Carl looked at his mother, and seeing the look in her eyes, he understood that she knew what was about to come.

"Yeeeesss?" Carl said, not sure if he wanted to hear the news.

"Well, school is canceled today and-"

"Aw sweet!"

"No, Carl. The regular school _schedule _is canceled today. Unfortunately, with finals coming up, it's hard to schedule another day for this. And I'm afraid this is last minute, Carl, but Principal Milty and the Principal of the High School have arranged for there to be an assembly devoted to your essay. You see, I have not met many seventh graders, with the exception of your sister, who could write so well. Principal Milty and I have agreed that writing such as this should be shared with all of Lucky students from the elementary, middle, and high schools. And what better way to share writing than to have the author himself read it? So, I'm terribly sorry for putting this on you, but-"

"No problemo, Mrs. Zorski." Mrs. Zorski and Lois looked stunned. _Whew, _Carl thought. _Is that all?_

"Are you sure, Carl?" Lois asked, "I mean, if I was in your place, I would feel self-conscious about-"

"About _what?_ My gross objects obsession? Come on, mom. Did I not convince you in this essay that I am proud of this…_passion_ that I have?" Mrs. Zorski smiled.

"You're right, Carl. I should not have been so worried about that in the first place. How about you take two hours to get ready and be back at the high school gymnasium for your big moment?"

"No way. My _brother_, who practically lives in that doghouse is skilled in something as _civilized _as writing?" Ginger was dumbfounded from the moment when she found out that Carl won a writing contest to when Lois, trying not to cry from delight, told her about the assembly.

"I know, Ging. It's kind of insane," replied Dodie. "I mean, just a few days ago, he was digging around in the trash, stinking the whole house up. Just look at him now!" Macie nodded in agreement.

The three girls made sure to get a good seat in the middle of the auditorium, so that if this _really _happened, they could see Carl. It was packed. Everyone, from the high school jocks to the five- year old elementary students sitting cross-legged on the floor, filled the place up. It was so noisy that Ginger had to almost yell for her friends to hear. It was chaotic.

"Guys, I can't help but be a little bit skeptical. Is this really for real?" said Ginger with such a doubtful tone. "What if Carl succeeded in one of his weird plans and fooled all of Sheltered Shrubs into thinking that he was some genius? What if-"

And at that moment, the room was filled with silence as Mrs. Zorski stepped out.

"Hello, Luckians. Now as you may know, we have another gifted writer. I feel that as growing students, it is important to expose ourselves to true talent. Recently our seventh graders entered a contest against several other schools in the areas. This contest was judged by a group of English teachers, myself included, and some published authors. We knew that as soon as we stumbled across this piece of work, it was the one. Without further ado, please give a warm welcome for Carl Foutley."

And Carl stepped out, holding the paper in his visibly trembling hands.

Carl didn't know whether it was nerves or excitement, but either way, he couldn't stop from shaking. He looked around at the darkened audience, which contrasting with his spotlight on stage. He felt kind of small.

But then he remembered that it really wasn't a big deal. _What does it matter if they don't like it? If my paper could impress a bunch of teachers, then it should be fine with these students. Oh yeah, and then there's Blakey's face to rub in when I read this masterpiece. Eh whatever._

He took one last nervous breath and read.

Author's Note: I hesitated a little at this chapter because I knew at some point that Carl's writing would have to be presented and I'm not particularly good at writing essays. I _could _write the story in some way that the essay would never be shown, but then I just felt that I letting you guys down. However, then I remembered how young Carl is and a seventh grade English teacher would probably be thrilled to read this, so then I felt a little better…

Also, this essay is pure fiction. Please don't assume anything about the innocent author. XD


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

"Hoodsey. I repeat. Hoodsey. Are you there?"

"Loud and clear, Carl."

The two boys made sure to keep in contact because that's what partners-in-crime do. And sure, they could use normal telephones. But what if they were discussing a brilliant scheme and their moms picked up the phones? No, it would be two risky. It was safer, and frankly, much cooler, to use walkie-talkies.

"But not for too long, Carl. The weather channel is coming up and this is my bonding time with dad."

They hadn't been able to talk to each other since late last night. The whole day, Sheltered Shrubs' local authors were bombarding Carl with interview questions:

"What inspires you?"

"Will you pursue this career?"

"Are you not aware that you have a most wondrous gift?"

Basically, he was asked three of these questions several times, albeit worded differently by the various people who asked. And in turn, Carl basically replied with the respective same answers:

"Trash."

"No."

"Sure."

Psht. It's not like he had time to grab a mug and sit at typewriter for hours on end, like his sister. Honestly! Would he, Carl Foutley, be satisfied with pursuing a career that involves sitting and thinking and typing? Absolutely not! Oh, and forget this whole "gift" that everyone is talking about. His _true _gift is sifting through piles and finding treasure. _That _is his "wondrous gift."

"Hoods, did you check the look on Gripling's face?"

"Yeah! He looked stunned, Carl!"

"Hmm. Stunned? Could it be that he has a newfound…respect for me?"

"Haha yes!" Carl punched the air in triumph. "That means that we have some major rubbing in to do! Yeeeessss. Oh, and I bet Higsby-"

Unfortunately, the two boys were cut short when a relentless knocking on Carl's door started.

"Mayday! Mayday! Invader coming into territory! See you, Hoods. Gotta fight off this one alone."

"Right, Carl." And they turned the talkies off. Carl approached his door and leaned his head on it so that the "invader" could hear clearly.

"State your name, gen-"

"Let. Me. In." Usually Ginger didn't answer with such hostility. He opened the door.

"Welcome, Sis. Have a seat onto my office chair." He gestured towards his desk chair. Ginger refused the offer. Her face showed clear anger. All right, fine. It was time to be serious. "So, what gives?" Ginger started to pace in order to relieve some of the fury she held.

"What gives? WHAT GIVES?! I heard everything, Carl. Everybody throws some ceremony or whatever for you and all you can think about is how you are going to rub in your success to Blake. And I just think-" Ginger hesitated. "I just think that that's wrong."

"Oh that's rich, Ginger. Since when did you care about what I did to him? Earth to Ginger: I've been making his life miserable (and have been enjoying it) for years. You know this. Now, come out with it. Why are you _really _here?" Ginger stopped in place, looking directly at Carl this time.

"I just think that if your only motive was to make Blake miserable, then you didn't need to cheat at a contest. Some of us writers try our best at these things, and the fact that you would steal someone else's work-"

"Stealing? Cheating? Is that what this is all about? Well, then I swear that I did everything on my own. If that's what you want, then there."

"Carl," Ginger's voice started getting quieter. Clearly, she was still not convinced. "I'm your sister. And I want you to be honest with me. This is your chance!" Carl started getting annoyed.

"Why is it so difficult for you to believe me? Do you think that I would sink that low? Why can't you just accept the fact that I did it by myself? On. My. Own." As he pronounced the last three words carefully for Ginger to hear, he could see the anger melting from her face and something else replace it. He wasn't sure what. She crossed her arms and looked down.

"No way," she said quietly. "Really?"

"Affirmative." _What's the big deal? _Carl thought to himself.

"It's really good."

"Thanks. That's what Zorski and Principal Milty and-

"I mean, Carl. It's really really good." She turned away from him. "It's probably better than something I could have written."

"You're jealous?" Ginger's head sunk in shame. Carl was starting to feel uncomfortable as well. This had never happened before. Ginger had always been the well- behaved, high achieving, perfect older sister. Carl, being the younger trouble- maker, had never cared. And now?

"I mean," Ginger started pacing again, "I have been writing for years. In my journal and typewriter. Writing is something I'm good at. But you? You sat down for a school project, not caring, and something fantastic comes on the page!" _Oh, I see. _

"Let me make this clear, Ginger. You're the writer in this family and you have the gift. Like you said, I just happened to write a good essay for once. It doesn't mean that I'm going to put the effort and time into writing another good one. I don't want to. Look, do you want me to tell you the real story? I was going to turn in a blank page. Zorski threatened to give me a failing grade if I did so. And you know what mom would do to me if I pulled something like that." Ginger gave a little smile, understanding that Carl had no choice.

"It was still pretty amazing," Ginger said.

"I don't think that it's amazing at all. I had a good inspiration. Everybody talks about how much work I did and all that, but really, _what work? _Once I knew what to write about-"

"It just came naturally," Ginger finished for him. _Perhaps he's smarter than I thought, _Ginger thought.

"Right." The two sat in an awkward silence. In this short amount of time, the two siblings had seen a completely different side of each other.

"Carl, I'm really sor-"

"No, apology, needed Sis. But," He mischievously at her. "However, I could use some samples of your nail clippings." Ginger's face contorted in disgust as she headed downstairs for dinner."

"Carl, that is totally gross." He followed after her, taking in the aroma of fresh pizza take out.

"You could at least get me a straw for the pizza grease!"

--

Author's Note: Sorry about the delay. I was on vacation and there was no internet access there. Soon, I'm afraid I will be heading off to another country with no internet. However, I'll try my best!

But about this chapter: It's pretty short, but it's my favorite chapter so far. I'm 99.99 sure that Ginger would be suspicious if that really happened to Carl.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

And so the next few monotonous weeks dragged by with Lucky Junior High students-even Carl- studying their butts off. Compared to their rigor in the fall, teachers such as Ms. Zorski proved to be tougher than ever. Luckily for Carl, the exams seemed to pass by very quickly, despite the amount of studying involved.

Carl always had a knack for math and science. With the exception of a few multiple- choice questions, the exams were a piece of cake.

However, he never cared much for social sciences. Fortunately for him-and the rest of the class- the teacher was pushover. The questions on the test might as well have been copied and pasted right from their workbooks, which they needed to complete in order to have a passing grade.

English was the last final exam. With its three short essays pushed into two and a half hours, it was the hardest. The students were breaking a sweat as they tried to reach for the right words. Higsby finished first, letting his whole class to believe that he aced it. However as soon as the wails of "I want my mommy" penetrated the classroom door, the students knew he was doomed. Blake finished second, trying to keep his misery from showing. Hoodsey actually seemed pleased when he finished the English. For once, he was glad that his strict mother prevented him from watching the whole weather channel special in order to study.

To Ms. Zorski's surprise, Carl was the last one to finish. The essays only needed to be a page each. It seemed that he was producing a novel in the making as he kept requesting more sheets of paper.

At last, time was up. Carl looked up from his desk and saw that he was the only one who used the whole amount of time provided. He gave a tired smile as he handed a mere three pages filled front and back with writing.

"What happened to other ten or so extra pages I handed to you?"

"Oh, you mean these?" said Carl as he showed them to her. They were filled with cross outs and other ugly pencil marks. Ms. Zorski smiled. Carl obviously put a lot of thought into the work he handed her.

"You know, Carl, you give an impression that you don't care, but I think you do. If you worked, you could be great." Carl laughed. "I'm _serious, Mr. Foutley._ As an English teacher, I try my best to not sound cliché, but this time…" Carl plopped down on the seat next to the teacher's desk as he braced himself for another lecture. "When I first met you, Carl, Principle Milty informed me of the crazy things you did in elementary school. And I thought 'Great. Yet another kid who needs some growing up to do.' And there you were, seventh grade and most of eighth grade, causing havoc in Junior High. And then, in the last few months, a _scholar _emerges!

"But more important than that, Carl," Ms. Zorski continued, "is that you were true to yourself throughout high school. You're at the age where it's hard to not give in to the 'cool crowd.' You remind me of your sister, in fact." Carl resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "Strong. Always willing to take a stand even if it was against everyone. But you, Carl, do it in your own way. And for that, I'm proud of you."

"Thanks, Ms. Z." He stood up to walk to through the door, but was interrupted as Ms. Z continued.

"But Carl, I want you to remember that. Don't change for the sake of others. Be who you _are,_"

He couldn't help it. To him, it just sounded so ridiculous.

"That'll never happen, Ms. Z." He turned to leave Junior High for the last time, with the signature Carl Foutley grin, and then rushed back to shake hands with Ms. Zorski.

"Nice working with you, Teach."

--

"Operation 'Covering Up Graduation Materials in Dog Turd' was a success, Hoods!"

"Yeah, I mean, who knew Dwayne could shovel so much in that truck of his?" replied Carl on his walkie-talkie.

Dwayne, the garbage man, was one of the boys' top resources when it came to supplying materials for their schemes. He's helped the boys do some evil things before, but nothing compared to this.

None of Lucky Junior High Students (with the exception of Brandon Higsby) were really looking forward to hours sitting in the hot sun while the valedictorian of the class (again, Brandon Higsby) rambled on for hours in that high pitched voice of his about "change" and "friendship." (Personally, Carl felt that he himself got enough of that for Ms. Zorski and he felt that it was much more meaningful coming from her than it would have from that annoying suck up)

Carl, who came up with the brilliant idea, was able to rally on the majority of his class to pitch in with dirtying up the graduation stage on the athletic fields. Even Blake, possibly the most high maintenance student, covered head to toe in expensive cover up equipment, convinced his chauffer, Winston, to drive him over at the Junior High School 9:00 AM. The Junior High graduation was at noon.

The original plan was to get Dwayne to back up the truck on stage, while the students would use their hands clad in rubber gloves (generously provided by Dwayne as well) to spread it on the bleachers. They would all have to do this in three hours so that they wouldn't get caught. Unfortunately, the garbage truck ran out of gas when it was still a mile away. Therefore, the kids had to carry as much as they could while running back and forth with their tiny legs. By the time all the worried parents of their missing children, teachers, and Principal Milty- all of whom were informed by Higsby of the scheme- rushed to the Junior High, it was too late. The kids were caught in the act. And worse! Brown goo. Everywhere.

The kids felt their hearts sink as they knew that it was too late to place the blame on anyone else. They would have to take the consequences! Maybe they wouldn't graduate! Maybe-

But then, laughter! Parents and teachers! The grumpy Joanne, Hoodsey's mother, tried to hold her giggles in and keep a straight face, but she failed. Then Principal Milty coughed for attention.

"Well, I suppose it we have no choice but to mail the diplomas! Oh, _poop._"

--

That night, after Carl finished reflecting on their brilliance with Hoodsey via walkie-talkie, he lay on his back in his doghouse.

It was all a blur. The first day he walked into Junior High trying to convince his skeptical teachers that he was capable of being a good person seemed like ages ago. And then, that afternoon! After a few relocation adjustments, an after party was held inside the gymnasium. Teachers were coming up to his mom and him (with an astonished Ginger listening in with Dodie and Macie) saying how he's become such a "fine young man" and "slowly losing the old Carl." Principal Milty, who was the one who almost always stood in the way of Carl's pranks, admitted to the two with a slight blush, that he was "a little like that in his day."

Carl sighed to himself as he ducked under to crawl out of his doghouse. _If that's who I am to become when I get old and gray, then forget it._

He halted as he spotted something- _someone- _lurking behind the bushes. He tip- toed closer, hoping to discover who it was. He soon realized that it was a petite girl, clutching a piece of paper in her hands, as if protecting something very dear to her. _No way, _thought Carl as he recognized the curly reddish hair and graceful posture from behind. She gasped as she felt his hand on his shoulder and turned around slowly.

Her startled eyes met his puzzled ones. _And so we meet again, _Carl thought as she started to speak in the accented voice that he hadn't heard in nearly two years.

"You know how I got here? You left the gate to the backyard unlocked. You shouldn't leave your gate open, Carl. Some stalker or killer or _stranger_ might sneak in."

Author's note: I changed Carl's age to thirteen and he just graduated eighth grade. I just think that with my plot that I have in mind, an incoming high schooler would make a better protagonist than a seventh grader.

I also edited the chapter in which Carl's prize for the contest was announced. The original plan was to have him win a 10,000 scholarship with books published in several book stores. For this contest, I just felt it was too much and I canceled the publication.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7 Chapter 7

_Her goofy smile, her peculiar accented voice, her aversion to veal, her way of weirding everyone out with her random tai chi in the school hallways…_

_Noelle Sussman was the first girl who fascinated Carl in such a way that he wanted to learn about her-understand her. From the moment he learned that she would be moving to another school nearby, he thought that his life would be over. From the moment he spotted her reading aloud to herself from his favorite penguin book in her school's playground and locked eyes with her, he thought it would be forever._

_But there was another girl, Polly Shuster. She also fascinated him. He wanted to get to know and understand her. At first, it was a mere bet-a childish venture- to join in her game "Parrot World." After opening up to it, he soon realized he was enjoying himself. And if that game was fun, then what else could she teach him?_

_Unbeknownst to him, Noelle was watching. She saw the joy in his eyes whenever he was with that other girl. She grew jealous. She knew in the back of her mind that he lied when he said, "No, I hated it." _

_But unbeknownst to her, Carl never wanted to say goodbye. He realized too late that she wanted more attention. He never got to say "I care about you" or "I still want to be with you" or any of the words that he wanted to say._

_Noelle ran away from him, avoided contact, and lost touch. Carl soon gave up. No words were needed to convey what she wanted to say to him. "I want to break up" would not have made it any easier._

"Hi," Noelle said in a meek voice. There was something fragile- almost forlorn in her eyes, which Carl could not place his finger on.

"Noelle!" his voice cracked a little as he squeaked in surprise, which made Noelle give out a nervous giggle. "What-why are you here?"

"Well-I-th-this," she finally slipped out, as she used her trembling hands to straighten out the crumpled piece of paper she held and handed it to Carl. It was a copy of the essay he had written months ago. He didn't understand it. She broke two years' of silence to deliver a copy of an essay to the writer himself? What was the point? Carl raised his eyebrows. She blushed and looked at her toes as she started to explain. "On the last day of school, the teacher read this to us. She said that there was a boy who was… unique. And then the kids in my school laughed. Even Polly laughed." At the sound of Polly's name, Carl winced, hoping desperately that she would not ramble about the misunderstanding that was so long ago. To his relief, she didn't deviate from the subject. "But I didn't." She looked straight into his eyes. "I knew that it could only be you wrote it." She hesitated. "It was amazing." Carl smirked.

"Well, I'm glad my brilliance is being known to kids in other schools besides those here in Sheltered Shrubs. How long do you think it will be before we can make a profit from this baby?" said Carl pointing at the top of his head and then throwing a fist at the air in triumph.

But then, an awkward silence followed. Noelle once again bore the serious expression that Carl had not seen often those few years ago. _And what about the random hi- jump kicks? _He wondered._ And that goofy laugh whenever we were together? Who is this melancholy girl who looks so much like Noelle?_

"Carl," said Noelle in a low voice, "it's been a long time." Carl smiled. _No kidding, huh? _

"Boy it sure has, and I just-"

"There are things I want to tell you. So many things, but it's late and..." Suddenly, she leapt into his arms. Carl's eyes widened in surprise. "When I listened to your essay, I thought I knew, but I wanted to see you to make sure. You haven't changed at all." Before he could respond, she yanked herself out of the hug, realizing, with an almost mortified expression, at what she had just done. "Can we see each other soon sometime?"

Carl nodded, wondering if it was really he who was giving a "yes" or if puppet strings were somehow attached to his head. Noelle gave a warm smile in return.

And then she left.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

"It all happened so fast," Carl sighed.

The humidity in the summer air was just too much. No doghouse for the boys today. However, it was not much better in Carl's room in which the air conditioner could never keep pace with the ridiculous weather. The heat, so intense and persistent, seemed to taunt Carl, affecting his ability to think clearly and preventing him from figuring out the answer of last night's….incident.

"I miss Noelle," Hoodsey suddenly stated, plopping on the beanbag chair next to Carl's bed, looking even more sluggish. "She always had some weird, but good, plan of what to do on a Friday night. Like that time when she suggested making a _real_ mud pie and stick it onto Blake's door mat. I liked that."

"Yeah…" Carl, lying on his back and staring at the ceiling, closed his eyes, as if it would have any effect on his minor headache that was slowly getting worse.

"And then now… So sudden….You didn't write any letters or do something that I don't know about, right? I thought you split it."

"Well, if you could call it that… She hasn't even talked to me."

"Gosh, Carl. She's really weird." Carl turned to his side, away from Hoodsey and sighed.

" I guess I was secretly hoping that if she did come back to us, everything would be the same and it would feel right. But going back to the way things were just doesn't seem like an option. Who knows what could have happened to her in the two years she spent without us?"

"Carl," Hoodsey said gently, "you're going to have to decide sooner or later. Now, here's what I think: If she came in such a rush at a sudden, maybe she _needs _to be with us. Maybe something's wrong. What have we _really _got to lose by letting her back into one Saturday of our lives? If she leaves us again, then it's no big deal."

"_You_ didn't go out with her, Hoods. _You_ don't have to endure the inevitable awkwardness that might come-"

"You're being selfish."

"Well, then so is she!" Carl burst out, letting loose all the frustration that has been eating at him the past night. "She leaves us. She doesn't talk to us. And then she expects us to help her when she needs something! What do you call that?! Her ex-boyfriend, Hoods! Me! What can _I _do?"

……

_Dear Noelle,_

_ Meet Hoods and me next Monday at noon at Dwayne's place._

_See You,_

_Carl._

And sure, it wasn't the most ceremonious letter Carl had written, but it would have to do for the moment.

The address was kept in a small piece of paper in his doghouse. He hid it, probably thinking that he would never need it again. Nevertheless, he knew that he had to have it somewhere. The occasional _What if she came back_ kept pestering him ever since she left. And finally, it proved itself to be useful. Carl sighed as he dropped the letter off at the mailbox as he thought to himself, _She probably threw her walkie-talkies in the trash._

And so, there they were, sweating, amidst the piles of waste all around them, waiting for someone who probably wouldn't even bother.

"I believe you talked me into it," Carl growled.

"Just give it time. Geez. No, Pinky. PINKY. Stay. You wait for Noelle, like everybody else. That's right." Pinky, now an irritable rat, slumped back into Hoodsey's coat pocket. It was almost two o'clock, way after, everybody anticipated Noelle to arrive. Carl started to worry. _Why if she doesn't even remember who Dwayne is? _The eagerness was just too much. Right in front of the trio stood a goldmine, just waiting to be tapped. If they stood there, not doing anything any longer….

"Hello, boys. Thought I wouldn't show up, eh?" The boys gave a startled jump and whipped around to see the one they were waiting for.

And there she was, in a _floral jumper?_

"I was thinking," Noelle started, not holding back any of her foreign accent, like she did last time she saw Carl, "that we could go out for coffee_."_ Hoodsey and Carl did a double take. _Coffee? _

Carl was about to object, but then Hoodsey interrupted.

"Sounds good."

……………..

"Well, how was I supposed to know that no pets are allowed?"

"It's common sense, Hoods."

_Maybe it's better that we got kicked out_, Carl thought miserably to himself, _I'm not sure if I would've been able to sit still in there. _

It was one of those moments where nobody wanted to risk saying something stupid because it would only make the already tense atmosphere worse. The four of them decided to go back inside the doghouse after they got their beverages. They sipped in an awkward silence. Carl looked from his cup of chai to occasionally steal glances at Noelle, who seemed to think that her coffee was the only thing of importance inside the room.

But Noelle knew she had to muster the courage at some point.

"So a rat," she started to say, hesitantly. "When did this happen?"

"Well," Hoodsey smiled, like the proud parent that he was, "It's a girl. Her name's Pinky. Sorry, about that. Should've told you earlier. Anyway, we just found her this year and she needed a home so…You can pet her if you like." Noelle tried to hide the discomfort as she inched towards Hoodsey and picked up Pinky. When-

"Ooh." Noelle, hissed as she tore away her now bitten finger.

"Pinky, that's bad." He held up the rat so that his eyes were square in front of hers and gave her a disapproving look. " Then he turned to Noelle. "Try being a little bit gentler when you pick her up. There, that's good. You see? She likes you." Pinky started to curl into a ball on Noelle's lap as Noelle stroked Pinky's back.

Hoodsey turned to Carl, who had been silent the whole time and gave him a look as if to say _Why don't you say something? _

"Noelle," Carl began, trying to reach for something worth saying. Noelle, looking a bit startled, looked at Carl, anticipating his question. "I-you-your finger. Finger. I can get a band-aid if you'd like." Not waiting for her response, he searched inside his boxes for it. Finally, he pulled out a band-aid and tore off the wrapping. He put it on her finger and was extremely careful, as if she would break if he did the tiniest thing wrong. He dared not look at her as he put the band-aid on, for fear of some awkward eye contact.

"Thanks," she said shyly. Carl nodded. She gave Pinky back to Hoodsey and glanced around the doghouse. "This place."

"What about it?" Carl asked, a little too quickly.

"It looks the same. Still the weird disgusting insects in Petri dishes. The petrified eyeball as well. Still the weird collections that you have kept for so long..."

"Yeah, and what else?" Carl was starting to become irritable.

"It's… bigger." Noelle stood up suddenly and stretched her hands up. "My hands don't touch the ceiling like they used to."

"Well, just a little bit of sawing here and hammering there and we've got a taller doghouse. No big deal,"

" It's great, actually. It is a-" She held back, trying to find the right words, "A piece of work." Carl gave a small smile.

"Well," Hoodsey smiled. "Something had to be done. It was crammed enough as it is. Add the fact that we were getting bigger. Look at Carl," he said nodding towards him, "He's now about five feet seven inches." Noelle's mouth dropped a little. Even Carl had to laugh at that.

"Is that so?" Carl smiled and nodded. He and she stood up back to back. "No way." Carl quickly sat back down.

"And I," Hoodsey added quickly, "Stand at a grand total of five feet two inches now." Noelle and Carl chuckled at that.

"And I stand at a grand total of five feet three."

"You're a girl," Hoodsey pointed out.

"So what? Robert Bishop, I think you're just jealous."

"Am not!"

"Liar."

"Children, children. Settle down." Carl said suddenly, Hoodsey and Noelle looked at him, surprised. _So Carl's the grown up one of the bunch?_It wasn't like Carl to be like this. Even Hoodsey looked at Carl with a frown.

An awkward silence ensued, and then a badly repressed giggle from Noelle.

"Sorry," Carl mumbled.

"Carl," Noelle suddenly said. She looked at him with a sly smile. "Are you antsy?"

"Antsy? I-well. Yeah. Yes, I am," Carl stuttered. Finally, he couldn't hold it anymore. Noelle suddenly showing up. Sitting here drinking _coffee_ and _tea _of all things on a promising summer's day. The relentless awkwardness. It was all too much "Can we _please _do something?"

"Like…Go search in the trash?" Noelle innocently asked.

"Yeah. Yeah. Like go inside the trash." Carl secretly prayed, hoping that if anything, she would remember the joys of trash picking.

"But how would I ever be able to do that without getting my dress dirty?" Noelle pouted. Carl started to roll his eyes, not even bothering to hide it from Noelle. But then, a smile escaped from her. "We _could _raid Ginger's closet, I guess."

"I couldn't have said it more brilliantly than myself. " Hoodsey nodded with approval.

"You're right, Hoods." Carl added. At that moment, everything started to feel right again. And here was Noelle. The _old _Noelle. There was no hi jump kicks or tai chi, which he was so used to seeing before. However, that brief moment did everything in the world for him. _All right_, Carl thought to himself. _I'll play along. Just this once, though._

"All right, everybody. Prepare for battle. Operation: Steal Ginger's Clothing begins."

--

Author's Note: Sorry! Sorry! College just started for me and it's getting hard to balance everything. I just want all of you to know that I _do _intend to finish this and not rush the ending. (Believe me. If I manage to do this story the _right _way, it'll be a while before the ending. Thank you so much for reading this.

On side note: Carl being five feet seven might not seem impressive at first but for an incoming _freshman _boy? It's actually pretty good.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

"What do I do now?" Noelle asked, looking confused and uncomfortable as she stared at the mass of junk. Carl, now a dozen or so yards away from Noelle and Hoodsey, beamed as he found a couple of rusty mufflers and proceeded to make a pile of treasure.

"Jump in!" Hoodsey yelled, as he extended his maggot-filled hand towards Noelle. She winced as she stared at his hand, contemplating whether to even touch it. Hoodsey, noticing her discomfort, frowned. He lowered his voice so that it was just a whisper.

"What's wrong, Noelle? Do you not want to hang with us? I mean, I understand if you don't and all, but-"

"No no no," spluttered Noelle, clearly very flustered. "I just-I-" As Noelle struggled with the right words, she anxiously looked around, as if trying to catch some stalker or spy. Suddenly, she felt a tap on her shoulder.

"AH!" Noelle must have jumped a thousand miles. She whipped around to find out the culprit that caused her surprise. A perplexed Carl just shrugged.

"Oh, Carl! It's just you. Hehe. I mean, of course it would be you. And not them." Noelle clamped her mouth shut as soon as she finished uttering the last three words. Carl could not keep his suspicion to himself.

"Them?" He repeated. Noelle backed away from the two boys.

"I'm so sorry! I thought I could do this. I really could. But I can't and…I have to go!"

"Noelle, wait!"

But it was too late. She was gone again. And the way she was running? She could been chased by a tiger or a _monster_.

With only few tinges of regret, Carl was pretty much done.

-------

Even Hoodsey had to admit that Noelle's behavior was beyond bizarre. To give a guy false hope that everything would be back to the way it was before and then dash away again? It was just plain unfair. The two boys did not even think twice about attempting to see her again.

Albeit a rough start, their summer was pretty good. Pulling a few pranks on Blake Gripling was one of the biggest highlights. It was easy to pull that stuff off when his family had a garage sale (The Griplings called it "Heirloom sale" to add more class to the name). Really, however, it was just a giveaway of Blake's baby items that made it all too easy for his fellow classmates to use for blackmail.

It was late August and just as Carl thought he was going to enjoy the remainder of his summer, huge envelopes started arriving in the mail for him. Carl opened them on the kitchen table during Sunday breakfast.

"Perhaps some subscriptions for the Weirdo's World Magazine?" Carl asked hopefully.

"I don't remember paying for them this month," Dr. Dave replied, a tall man with huge spectacles. Still wearing his pajamas, Dr. Dave was going to savor his one day off of the week. About two years ago, he married Lois Foutley, his co-worker and love of his life. Though he was often busy with his occupation as a surgeon and could not be there sometimes, such as when Carl won his writing contest, he still tried his best to make himself available to the family. He was also particularly close to Carl, especially since Carl did not think his Always-MIA biological father made enough commitments to the family.

Aw really? I just though- AW NO!" Carl practically cried when he saw the stacks of homework assignments pour out of the envelopes. Attached was merely one brief letter:

_Dear Carl,_

_Because of your academic success in Lucky Junior High, I was surprised by the course load you chose for next year. As your guidance counselor (and hopefully, future friend) I have made a few course changes._

_I have also attached your summer assignments that are a prerequisite for the Honors classes. I realize that this is short notice, and therefore, you will have until the end of September to complete them. Furthermore, I hope that you understand that I have merely made these changes so that you realize your full academic potential._

_If you do not agree with these changes, please meet with me after the second week of school._

_Sincerely,_

_Debra Gupta_

_Grade 9, Lucky High Counselor_

"What the-" He looked at the piles of work in front of him. "And look at these papers. They're mocking me! Smiling at me with the glee that they are the cause for the loss of my summer."

"Ouch," Ginger agreed as she snatched away Carl's letter and looked at his course load. "Zorski along with these other teachers? Mom, even I have to sympathize with him."

"Now honey," Lois replied. "I have to admit that you are brighter than what you chose for yourself. I say that you give these classes a try and then decide later. Now what do you say, kiddo?" Though Carl could see that his mother felt genuine concern for him, he also knew that she would rather eat a snake than let him slack off during high school.

"I don't really have a choice do I?"

"No. Not really."

-------------

Her eyes were running with tears threatening to pour out like they had never before. Trying not to show weakness, she balled up her fists with all her strength and sat on them. Her nails dug in so hard that the skin almost broke.

"Back to Sheltered Shrubs, darling!" A blond woman, donned in a very low cut shirt with his hip slung jeans beamed. "Your father has just been offered a new job back in town. Now he'll be executive manager of- "

_"I don't care. No more. No more." _Noelle thought to herself.

"Why now?" Noelle protested. "I-I was doing so well in this school." It was a straight lie, however. And she and her mother knew it. Coming back everyday from junior high school with that depressed expression on her face, Noelle would plop on her bed, without a word to either of her parents. The mother, blindly thinking that her daughter was suffering from a week of shopoholic stress as she herself did at that age, would shower her with materialistic presents. At first, Noelle thought it was thoughtful, but then felt a yearning for something more from her mother. Talking or even a hug would have been a start.

At the moment, however, neither was willing to delve further into the subject that would bring more obvious hurt. So the mother changed the subject.

"I think I'm going out with Anne and Cheryl tonight. Will you be okay?" Noelle buried her head in some book, trying not to uncover her own disappointment. Once again, her mother would not be there in her time of need. Once again, she would have to find some way by herself to get over her sadness.

Not waiting for her response, Noelle's mother put on two fabulous purple satin shoes and headed out for the door. Before she left, however, she popped her head into the living room, just to say some last minute things that she thought were suitable last minute motherly words of comfort:

"It is a good thing, in some ways, isn't it? That boy you'll be seeing again. He's awfully cute, no? Kurt, Clark, I think his name is? Something like that."

"Carl?"

"Yes, yes! Carl. Now, that's a bright spot, right? To see him?" The mother walked out, satisfied with herself that she did the right motherly thing for once.

Unbeknownst to her, however, that was probably the one thing that Noelle did not want to hear.


End file.
